blowing through the cobwebs of my mind

Tag Archives: blogging

I knew it was coming – even though it only feels like yesterday to me due to my wonky time-sense – but yes, my wee blog is two years old. Wow, a bit, and ow, a bit.

I’ve changed a lot in two years. I had no job when I started. I used to get songs stuck in my head every day, earworms, and I’d post about that. Yep, I useta post daily – or even more than once a day! I stopped having a song every morning for a good while, but it is back now. I just don’t bother you all with it.

I actually talked about the dog first, as I knew that the cats would take over quite quickly. Yes yes the dog is cool, but the cats are awesome. My good old man, Spot, and his “brother” Lokii who got two separate posts!

I used to draw all the time. I did it a lot until the job sucked the heart art out of me. My first published drawing was a pun cartoon! I’d forgotten that. I thought my first was when in introduced my best friend, Socks. I miss my art, but haven’t yet found a way to bring it back into my life on a daily basis.

I first talked about plants when discussing my indoor garden. What surprised me the most is that iDJ had no idea that my cactus had such heritage. I’m sorry to report that the lantana didn’t come back this year.

I told a lot of good stories and shared some important personal information when I first started blogging. I don’t repeat myself now, as it is all already here. I understand, now, that no one ever goes back to the start and reads the whole blog. I think that’s a shame – but even I don’t have time to do that now. I used to, before I started blogging! I devoured so many, from tales of retail pain to beautifully ugly comics, that I thought everyone did that! Whoops.

I first showed iDJ’s face on the 31st – and this is still one of my most popular Google Image searches. I rocked the making of that costume.

I’ve bitched about my bad back and the medical system here, and my bad skin. Lucky you; you haven’t heard about my bad guts. See? I do have some sense of decorum. My back is better now, by the way. The skin only is slightly better, and that only because I’ve had lots of sunshine this year.

I think I’m about done tooting my own horn. I’d like to end with what I still think is the best sentence I’ve ever written on this blog.

“This blog is me upending my cerebellum and splashing around in the puddle.”

But I never let that stop me. Here’s my thought process: there’s a song like that, sort of. It sounds cool. Wonder if anyone will get it?

Since either no one got it, or everyone got it (either way no one said a woid), I am now talking about it. See what happens when I make an effort to do this daily? You get this sort of shite! Aren’t you sorry now?

And I thought the song I had in mind was Windmills of Your Mind, a beautifully melancholy song, the corrupted lyrics of which I read in a version in Cracked Magazine circa 1980-something. I still have the magazine, but it’s up in the attic and I don’t love you enough to climb the Ladder Of Doom, stumble over a million bits of junk, find the box, and dig through it just so I can prove that I still own it, and type out their version of the lyrics. But after a massively failed attempt to Google it, I could be persuaded. I’ve got some treasures in that box.

But there’s another song which clearly works better. Since AlienRedQueen reminded me how much I like their music, I’ve been listening to a lot of Type O Negative, a band described as ‘Gothic Metal’ (a big part of what they did, but they were more flexible than that category). I love their version of Seals & Croft’s 1972 hit, Summer Breeze.
The video is shite, just listen. The band was gone before the ‘net exploded into what it is today.

I mentally hear that wonderfully bass voice singing ‘cobwebs’ instead of ‘jasmine’. Even if you hate this sort of thing (Sled, I’m talking to you) give a cursory listen, just for me?

If you don’t, I might devote a whole post to how you can get my hubby’s Halloween podcast. It’s pretty damn cool…

Share the lurve!

Like this:

I had a very busy weekend last. Staying up until 3:30 am Saturday night helping iDJ with, well, being a DJ – for a double 21st in a pub, no less – was tiring, especially with all the raw fresh testosterone that was liberally flung about when the ‘never a bother, nice boys’ got into fight after fight.

Sunday was the All-Ireland GAA final, and my county was one of the runners. The underdog. I’ve linked to Peternal to show a bit of the support we had here, but it was MAD, MAD I TELL YOU. They painted the white stripes and words on the roads red and green for Mayo. Every business and home on the main street had something red and green or outright supporting our lads.

The Sam Maguire Cup at my workplace – but sadly won’t be back for a while…next year?

Not going to the pub to watch the match was not a choice… even with work on Monday looming large. We met up with Peternal and settled in, and – I know, this is hard to believe – I was the only one of age in the pub, and the only of our group of three, who held off on having a drink until after 5 pm. When the game was over. And Mayo had lost to Donegal. Well played, Donegal – at least it wasn’t Dublin or Kerry!

But after that? It was like Paddy’s Day. Imagine if Mayo had won!!! We drank in…1,2,3,4, FIVE pubs before heading to the takeout for dinner after midnight. And no, that’s never one drink per pub. Not even for our slow-drinking Canadian.

Monday = ouch.

Monday night = watching a movie and eating early and going to bed on time.

Tuesday = I don’t want to even look at the 60+ emails with blog updates, comments, etc that have piled up since Saturday eve.

Because I’m also reading Game of Thrones. Sorry, folks… I needed a break! Sorry if I’m only today getting around to reading your posts, and usually only hitting ‘like.’ I also am making an experimental dinner and we had an electrician call around to fix the hot water heater – which has been dead since my last shower – which was on the 16th.

I never talk about how people find my blog, despite how frikkin’ funny and/or disturbing some of the searches are. That changes today – this one hit me just right and I laughed with abandon, never mind the sleeping hungover husband.

“i got my cat from the spca they said she was fixed & chipped but now she’s got boobs”

Hahahahahahahahhaha! Oh, I’m so sorry, random Googler – I’m not totally laughing at you. It’s just…when did I ever talk about cat boobs? I’m positive I’ve used every one of those words on my blog, but never in that particular order… Also: have kitty-titties become an issue for people when I wasn’t looking?

Right, so: I’m probably still a bit drunk, so I’m gonna let the dog out and then go lie down for a little longer. But I don’t think I can go without telling Random Googler this: your cat is FAT. Those aren’t boobs. Ease up on the chow, she’ll be fine – or even better, play with her more. Cuz I just can’t see anyone selling an 8-cup support bra anytime soon.

Guess what I got for Christmas from my lovely Canadian friend? heretherebespiders.com ! No more .wordpress in there to make typing it out such a hassle. I’m not really sure what all of the other benefits are yet, though. Anyone? I am pretty slow at these things, surprisingly. Well, it surprises me, anyway.

Anyhoo, CanuckHound (will that do? I’ve been trying for months to nickname this gal with no success) came by the house last night and we set up my nooooo website, yay! In return I gave her a bag of weed. No, not that kinda weed – it was lemon catnip that I grew, dried, and pulverised. I’m hoping her kitty Penny likes it, as mine have no interest. The lemon part disgusts them. However, I simmered the leftover stems and flowers on my stovetop for a few days and I swear the good smells made Spotty a little high.

iDJ gifted her with some ambient music. I’d tell you more about what it was, but I’d have to ask him. He’s currently on his headphones gearing up for tomorrow’s radio23 show. Little plug, there, hehe. What I’m saying is that I’d be forced to make him talk, and I get enough of that in a day. Sorry, dear. I do know one of the artists was Aphex Twin, his all-ambient album.

CanuckHound also brought him this:

I know doodly-squat about Scotch, sorry.

Before she went home, we were talking art and I wanted to show off my sister’s work. Well, I was bummed to see she took her website down and put up a pic of her daughter – in other words, she’s way too busy to bother with the website right now! I was a bit bummed, but CanuckHound said I should type ‘wayback machine’ into Google. Well! The wayback machine brings up old cached websites, how cool! It didn’t work for my sister’s pictures (I’m sure she’ll be happy to know that) but it did work on my old website, which dates back to and hasn’t been touched since 2004! I thought I’d lost every picture and word I typed as I never saved it anywhere. I’m thrilled! Anyone want to see/read what I was rambling about eight years ago? It was mostly my trip to England to hang out with my sis: my first time overseas. I’m going to save it all, any way – before it really is too late!

I had a busy night over on the FaceBook last night. I put up my seahorse drawing, and by the time we were done talking shite, me and two friends racked up 190 comments.

Only four were about the actual drawing.

The rest, well. Bird started it by offering up embarrassing stories. She put up three then asked if I had any. I said I couldn’t think of anything, not like hers, anyway! I suggested that another friend (who had commented on the actual drawing first and was, of course, being notified of these new comments) might remember some dirt on me, as we’ve been friends since I was 12 or 13.
Well, she didn’t have anything on me either. I’m sure I had to have something, but just couldn’t come up with anything I did publically that I found embarrassing.

I have a private, in my own house story, but only one other person ever knew about that one.

Not to say that my history has been boring, oh no. I did things on purpose to mess with people, though. I pierced my ear in class with a huge safety pin, and bled everywhere. More disturbingly, I once sat in class and pricked holes in a finger, then spattered blood all over my desk in pretty patterns. I think I was trying to creep out the only kid in the class that was stranger than I was. I guess I was goth before there was goth. I wasn’t embarrassed, and I didn’t get in trouble for either incident.

I did get in trouble for painting one eye – just one – in heavy black and white professional clown makeup. I can’t recall if they made me wipe it off or not, but I do know I irritated the powers that be.

It was a bit like that.

Once I borrowed a dress from a friend and put it on before school. Maybe I was way taller than my friend and therefore showed too much leg, but the school administration stopped me cold and wouldn’t let me go to class. They called my mother to bring me ‘proper’ clothes. While I was waiting for her, I could hear the women in the office talking about me. They called me a whore, and made nasty comments about what I probably had been doing with my boyfriend before school started. It was the first and last time I ever wore a dress to school.

Still, I was ANGRY, not embarrassed. Sorry that my mom had to leave work and bring me clothes, too. Ya know what? I’m still a bit pissed off.

My sister told me recently that when I was very young, I would hiss and growl like an angry cat. At other kids who picked on me on the schoolbus. Yeah, a bit odd.

I just went back to the FB comments; we spent three hours talking! Too funny. Two of us in Ireland and one in Florida, and what great craic. The best part of it all was how much it helped them both. Bird because she’s had it really rough lately, and has had huge life changes to deal with. But, a listing of embarrassing moments made her remember what a free spirit she is at heart, and that she doesn’t need a ‘bucket list’ because she has lived. My other friend because she’s a bit lonely and isolated out in the sticks of Florida; her son is grown and gone and her family lets her down too often (but she keeps trying, what a massive heart she has). She said she laughed and snorted through the whole three hours.

You never know what will come from a simple post on the ‘net, do you? I think I’ll save the rest of my thoughts on that topic for another time, though – too much to tack on to the end of this one!

Someone had great fun yesterday reading every last post I’ve done! I’m quite flattered about it. I’ve so few followers, and I’m so new, that my site stats tell me these things. I’m less than a month and a half along but I put up so very, very much it is rare that anyone tries to read it all, especially in one day! (I just had a look, 170 posts, yikes, I’m a bit verbose.) Whoever you are, thank you – I’d love it if you commented, but I’m glad you took the time nonetheless. I’ve not had such a high-count day since I did the portraits of Jimmie Chew.

Oh, yes: I’ve been rejected by BioWare Ireland as a customer service representative. Probably because I couldn’t kiss arse enough in their on-line interview. I just couldn’t blow that much smoke up an online questionnaire’s arse. I’m afraid to say I’m happy that I didn’t get it, it sounded like a living hell.

Hubby took a photo of the statue they are putting up in the square. I wasn’t too far off in my description yesterday.

This is Anthony Raftery, “the blind poet” who was from this area. I suppose I should apologise for complaining about a cattle scale being taken out in order to commemorate much older local history.

My ‘big news’ is that I sent in my application to be an exhibitor at the Open Fair in Castlebar on December 4. I applied as a digital portrait artist, illustrator, and logo designer. I’m a bit scared, to be honest. I have no idea what to charge. I don’t know if I can or should sell my work as digital only, no hard copy: or only hard copy. I’d have to borrow a printer or have it printed elsewhere.

Well, the main thing is that I’ve taken the first step. Even if nothing comes of it, the act of doing something like this is a huge breakthrough for me. Scary, but also scary in a good way!

I believe this thang is a month old today. I’m too lazy to scroll through the 74 posts I’ve put up since I started! I never thought blogging could be so addictive, or so much fun. I certainly didn’t think I would be so prolific – and I’m nowhere near to being out of things to babble about!

Today has seen my most hits ever, thanks to Jimmie Chew and the loyal band of followers he has. Thank you, everyone, for visiting! I’d be happy to try to draw things for others, just ask. I’m not brilliant, but who doesn’t love their kitty, pup, or even their own lovely face hand-drawn? Well, finger-drawn :)

Now, I have to go and write another Socks update!

(that’s a cake. that is also what I draw like without a photo!)

Share the lurve!

Like this:

I’m finally following up on an idea I apparently foisted upon a fellow blogger. I asked him in a comment about writers that inspired him, and his response was prompt and impressive. Being as I am someone with very little formal education – I just read a lot – I won’t be sharing some of his choices that are traditionally considered literature. I will read just about anything that is fiction, with the non-negotiable stipulation that romance novels are totally out of the question. (I found a Barbara Cartland novel in the trash when I was about eight. I was shocked that anyone could treat a book that way, and rescued it. I did read it, and that was enough for me to put it back into a bin.)

I’m also an American, so some of my choices might be considered too popular to be taken seriously. I am sorry if anyone does feel that way, however. Especially for my number one influence:

1. Stephen King. I love this man, I love nearly everything he has written, and I’m a collector of his work. A little history, bear with me; my parents were avid readers and did not censor what my sister and I read. Thank you, thank you. Mom volunteered at our library, and one of her jobs was picking new books for the shelves. She would consult with us girls, and we would know what would be coming in and when, and we would put our names on the reserved list. I clearly remember when King’s new books Firestarter and Cujo were bought as I was so excited to read them. They were released in 1980 and 1981 respectively – I was nine when Firestarter came out.
So, I have a love of Mr King’s work that is over 30 years old. He does inspire me, especially his book On Writing. I could go on and on, but I’ll shut up now. He will get a whole post one day, I do have a few criticisms as well as accolades.

2. C.S. Lewis. The Chronicles of Narnia, obviously. I wrote a lot of rubbish when I was a kid because of him. His religious undertone failed with me utterly, I just wanted talking animals to be real.

3. Dean Koontz. I’ve gone off him a bit now, he’s way too Christian for my tastes and it is getting annoying. But he’s on the list for sheer perserverance, meticulous editing of every sentence, and the staggering volume of his work. Lightning, Midnight and Watchers were the first three books of his I read, and I still think they are the best of his enormous bibliography.

4. Madeline l’Engle. She wrote for what would now be considered ‘tween-age’ girls, but she wrote about science, time travel, and history. Another one whose religious undertone failed to affect me – now I can’t even imagine how or why she could link god to a book that explains, quite well, the first through sixth dimensions. Sigh. On the list as she taught me you don’t have to write about romance and rainbows when you are a woman writing for girls.

5. Dr Seuss. I don’t know if I would love words as much without him having so damn much fun with them.

6. Charles Bukowski. Wow, what a drunken, hateful, misogynistic loser. Wow, what a mind that allowed him to spill everything on paper. An inspiration because I learned that nothing is too horrible to write about. I’ll even read his poetry. Not for everyone, but if you like my next entry, you’ll like Bukowski.

7. Chuck Palahniuk. He’s disgusting and creative with it. A quick and bizarre mind, he taught me that nothing is too strange or sickening to write about – very liberating.

8. John Irving. I read The World According to Garp when I was about 13, and despite being shocked by the infamous car accident scene, I didn’t really appreciate the novel. Much later in life I read A Prayer for Owen Meany and The Cider House Rules, and fell in love. I’ve not read all of his works yet, but will. I love how he is so adept at immersing me in the world he has created. A kind of ‘I’m not worthy’ feeling hits me when I finish one of his books.

9. Kurt Vonnegut. If Irving makes me feel not worthy, Vonnegut makes me feel as if I shouldn’t even bother. Not exactly inspirational, is it? He just blows my socks off: style, language, humour, story, technique. I am a latecomer to Vonnegut, and I am sorry we lost him recently because once I read everything, there will be no more. I parcel his works out to myself like rare expensive chocolates, savouring each one.

I’m sure there are tons more, but I’ve run out of playtime and need to get ready for my job interview!